


cool schmool

by rjosettes



Series: Tumblr Fics [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Bullying, Coming of Age, F/F, First Kiss, Malia Tate Rarepair Week, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the sixth week of eighth grade and Allison is eating a bag of popped rice crisps by the lockers instead of going into the caf. Most of the kids in there are ‘real’ high schoolers – the freshmen up through the seniors, dominating most of the good tables. She knows that if she hadn’t missed so much of sixth grade in Colorado, she’d be one of those freshmen, but she doesn’t feel anywhere near ready to handle that at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cool schmool

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Malia Tate Rarepair Week. Title from the Bratmobile song of the same name.
> 
> The bullying here is mostly based in rumors and excluding a character, but I thought I'd tag for it just in case anyone felt uncomfortable. This story diverges pre-canon - the Hales stayed in contact with the Tates and Malia's family never got into a car accident, so she knows both her adoptive family and her cousins/aunts and uncles by blood.

It’s the sixth week of eighth grade and Allison is eating a bag of popped rice crisps by the lockers instead of going into the caf. Most of the kids in there are ‘real’ high schoolers – the freshmen up through the seniors, dominating most of the good tables. She knows that if she hadn’t missed so much of sixth grade in Colorado, she’d be one of those freshmen, but she doesn’t feel anywhere near ready to handle that at all.

In fact, she’s having a hard time dealing with the kids in her own grade. A tiny, pretty redhead had grabbed her by the elbow on her first day, complimenting her jacket, and she’d thought maybe she got a good school this time. Even if Beacon Hills was one of those weird schools that shoved part of the junior high in with the high school. Lydia had asked her a few dozen questions about where she’d lived before (San Francisco, most recently), what kind of boys she liked (nice?), and how late her parents let her stay out. She’d accidentally ended up spilling that she’d be fifteen next semester and Lydia hadn’t even judged her, smiling and pointing out that she’d be able to drive before the rest of them. Allison had just smiled and nodded, not wanting to point out that she’d probably be out of here before she hit fifteen and a half, which would only get her a permit anyway.

The first week had been fine, as long as she was just hanging out with everyone at school. Lydia has a boyfriend on the JV lacrosse team and a lot of people who seem to want her attention, but it doesn’t seem like she has an awful lot of friends. Allison doesn’t understand the point in smiling to someone’s face and then muttering 'thank God’ to yourself when they leave, but maybe that’s just how people work here. There are a few people outside of Lydia’s clique that are friendly to her, but they smile and wave at the most – like she’s off-limits automatically because of who she happened to run into her first day. Weird, but okay. How many friends does she need?

According to Lydia, that number is just one, but she’s missing another crucial statistic – one boyfriend. Allison’s never actually had a boyfriend before, thanks to hopping schools every few months – twice in a year if she’s lucky. Mostly she’s praying that she’ll finish out the semester here and they’ll move during the break, if they have to. But Lydia insists that it’s a crucial part of her time here that she find a popular boy that she can put up with – her words, not Allison’s. Lydia doesn’t seem to be 'putting up with’ Jackson, by the way they hold hands on top of the lunch table sometimes even when they’re eating, but they bicker a lot. Allison feels too young for that too, still, even though Lydia is younger than her. Crushes are one thing, but fighting like married people is a little much for what should really still be junior high.

Lydia’s group of acceptable boys is pretty small, it turns out. Most of the boys in their grade aren’t good enough to play on sports teams with the high school guys. The freshmen and sophomores are options, apparently, though Allison can tell Lydia doesn’t want to resort to that. None of the ninth grade and up bother coming to sit with the eighth graders, which means Allison would be disappearing into the jungle of kids with car keys for lunch every day. Danny is on the lacrosse team with Jackson, but definitely isn’t interested in her, mostly because she is a her. And so Lydia is left picking through the rest of the boys in their grade, trying to figure out who’s 'good enough’, without even asking if Allison maybe likes any of them. There’s a sweet, floppy-haired boy in her English class that loaned her a pen that first day, before she ever met Lydia. If she had to pick a boy, she’d probably go with him. She doesn’t particularly want a boyfriend for the sake of a boyfriend, though, and Lydia would almost definitely not approve of a quiet boy with about two friends who puffs on his inhaler in public occasionally.

Allison isn’t sure how to tell Lydia that she’d rather focus on keeping up with schoolwork and maybe finding more people to hang out with one on one. There don’t seem to be any slumber parties happening with the girls in Lydia’s circle, and the girls who pair with her in classes she doesn’t share with Lydia talk to her in brief starts and stops, like they don’t want to be too friendly.

“They think you’re stuck up,” Danny had informed her when she seemed troubled about it after science, where the quiet blonde – who had smiled so easily when she was paired with a tall, handsome boy the day before - had completely shut down on her. “If she’s friendly to you and you snub her, she feels worse. Most people actually hate Lydia and Jackson if they’re not pretending to love them more than they do.” It’s a shock to her system to hear, and she doesn’t believe anyone genuinely hates Lydia, but it makes sense. It’s a lot easier to act like you don’t care from the start instead of after you’re already hurt.

She’d tried to talk to Lydia about it. Mentioned how shopping and painting each other’s nails was nice and all, but she sort of missed gymnastics and running. That she didn’t have anyone to hang out with when Lydia was spending her court-ordered time with her dad. And maybe how she would rather just give the boyfriend thing a rest instead of waiting to be pushed together like the Barbie to some boy’s Ken whether she wanted to go on a date with him or not.

That had been a mistake. Everything had seemed fine when she fell asleep on top of the covers on Lydia’s bed that night after they’d finished their homework, Lydia’s half of their math problems flawlessly finished before Allison had gotten past the first ten. Allison had felt hopeful that things were going to get way better now that Lydia understood her a little more. Maybe Lydia could loosen up a bit and they could have bigger sleepovers with some of the other girls that clearly liked to hang around her. That way, Allison wouldn’t get the stink eye for being the only one, and they could all be friends. Right? It would be nice for them to say something to her that doesn’t involve how cute her clothes are or how lucky she is to be thin when they’re all getting curvy in places Allison’s still mostly flat.

Monday morning everyone was whispering about something. She got a few funny looks while she waited at Lydia’s locker, and when Lydia never came, she wrote it off as people thinking it was odd to wait around on someone who’s not even at school. They don’t share homeroom or very many classes at all, actually, so she forgot about it until lunchtime, stacking her tray with juice and an apple alongside the hot lunch.

The table had actually been fuller than usual, and Lydia was right were she belonged around the corner from Jackson. Her spot was filled by a girl she didn’t even recognize, and despite the fact that Lydia regularly kicked people out of their group to make room when someone more important came around, Allison hovered for a full minute and…nothing. Lydia didn’t even acknowledge her, though Jackson shot her a glance that felt more apologetic than hostile.

 

By Wednesday, there are six different rumors about what’s 'wrong’ with Allison and why she doesn’t deserve Lydia gracing her presence anymore. The baby rumor goes around fast, which means everyone knows how old she is – something only Lydia knew. She hears whispers, too, that she’s in love with Lydia and couldn’t handle being turned down. That one Lydia didn’t start, she knows, or else Jackson would’ve been a lot more upset with her. He’s nothing if not possessive. Nothing else really solidifies into a thread she can follow, though everyone in their year seems to have an opinion on it all, and she can’t exactly escape it. The upperclassmen don’t care, but after more than a month of aligning herself by grade rather than age, she doesn’t belong with them.

And so here she is, tucked against the wall so that the lockers block her from view, eating whatever she could throw together to eat today. The entire eighth grade has lunch at once, at least, which means none of them have gone past. She pulls her knees in tight every time a shadow goes past, but it’s been disinterested seniors coming in from wherever they’d driven off-campus to for lunch so far. She peels her orange as carefully as she can, not wanting to get any of the juice on her white jeans, and tries to convince herself this can’t last. Lydia will have a change of heart and things will be okay, or her dad will get a call and they’ll be gone overnight leaving no traces beyond the splashes of paint on her bedroom wall. Just a few more lunches like this. Class is fine when she focuses on her work. It’s just lunch that she has to make it through.

Another shadow approaches and Allison almost bangs herself in the chin getting her legs up and away from the line of the lockers where her toes stick out. The shadow slows and then stops, though, and for a brief moment she thinks it might be Lydia, come to tell her to come back to their table.

“There are tables outside, you know.” It’s a girl’s voice, but definitely not Lydia’s, and Allison’s eyes follow it up from a pair of hiking boots all the way up to a round, pretty face framed by dirty blonde hair. “Barely any ants, and no assholes.”

Allison flushes. She realizes now how she looks, really, to everyone else. She remembers seeing kids who avoided everyone else for their own good this way, happier alone than in company that might mock them openly or whisper later. “They’re not assholes,” she says quietly, and tries to mean it enough to be convincing. That’s the worst part of all of it. Lydia never even said anything to her. She hasn’t responded to any texts, and she knows Lydia stays glued to her phone. “They’re all really cool.”

“Yeah, well.” The girl shrugs, flipping her hair back over her shoulder like it’s in her way. “Cool schmool.”

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Malia runs too, which is really obvious the more times that Allison sees her in shorts. Which is every day, actually, as far as Allison can tell. She only ever sees her wandering the halls or out front waiting for rides after school. She’s not sure how it’s even possible for them not to share any classes whatsoever, unless she’s very young for her grade and a year up from Allison. They have a few conversations when Malia stops by Allison’s spot by the lockers every few days. Never 'hi, how are you’ sort of conversations; those don’t seem like they even have any place in Malia’s mouth. They talk about sports long enough for track to come up, and Allison asks where Malia buys her boots.

“Ugh,” she’d said, wrinkling her nose. “Does it matter? They’re just shoes.” They made a a tiny black scuff on the linoleum when she kicked at the floor, screechy sound loud from Allison’s spot nearby. “Goodwill, maybe?”

Allison knows for a fact that Lydia checks stores like Goodwill sometimes and then passes the clothes off as 'vintage’ to everyone around her. No one questions her, and Allison had just accepted it as a fact – Goodwill is shameful. Malia throws it out like it’s no different than getting them at the mall or a nice sporting goods store. They are for the outdoors, after all. The topic had changed to hiking and camping pretty quickly, but it had left an impression. Malia kind of doesn’t care about stuff the way that everyone else seems to. Even when her shirts are floral pastels, fluttery and reaching almost far enough to cover her denim shorts, she wears those hiking boots.

It takes a while to get her courage up, but she finally goes looking for the tables outside. She carries most of her books in her arms like a shield, her packed lunch hidden in her booksack where she’d snuck it in that morning. Not tipping her parents off to her situation has been a huge priority. They mean well, but Allison doesn’t want to see the guidance counselor about her hurt feelings. She just wants to get over them and feel comfortable again. It’s not looking hopeful when the first table is full of unfamiliar seniors, mostly with a lot of holes in their face and all black everything – hair, clothes, nails. Allison had tried the goth thing at one school, but her favorite sweater was green and her mother wouldn’t let her dye her hair any darker. She laughed too much, maybe. These kids seem more at ease with each other, smiling and passing notebooks and phones back and forth, but they’re still seniors and a lot different than what she’s used to.

Malia’s at the next table, though, picking splinters out of her elbow and complaining loudly at a pair of tall, skinny boys sitting across from her. Allison approaches cautiously, not sure how to announce herself.

“Hey,” someone calls, and Allison realizes there’s one more boy at the table, partially hidden by his taller friends. It’s the dimpled boy from English, and he waves enthusiastically. “Allison!”

Malia looks up, her furrowed brow smoothing as she starts to smile – something Allison hadn’t seen her do before. “There’s room,” she says, scooting until she’s pressed along the side of the girl next to her that seems to be pretty heavily into whatever jam she’s hearing through her earbuds. She pats the seat that’s beside her and across from Scott at the wooden table. “We don’t save seats or anything.”

She feels glad to have something to do with her hands, digging her lunch out of her bag and setting it up – pb&j sandwich, apple, mozzarella stick. Pretty good for having thrown it together. She doesn’t have anything to drink, but she figures she can manage until she gets back inside to the water fountains to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

“It took you long enough,” one of the tall boys says – the one next to Scott, dark brown hair and pale brown eyes. “Malia’s been talking like you were going to come last week.” It makes Allison’s stomach feel funny and she looks pointedly at her sandwich as she chews, trying hard not to check if Malia is reacting at all. “I’ve been waiting all this time to hear what the inside of Lydia Martin’s bedroom is like.”

“Oh my god,” someone says from a table over, and Allison’s shocked to see the frizzy-haired blonde from her science class. She’s lying down on the bench with her head in someone’s lap. On second glance, it’s the boy she’d been paired with a few times – Boyd, she knows now, after paying a bit more attention. “Give it a rest, Stilinski. It’s a shrine to bitchcraft. Get her some lipstick and call it a day, you’re never getting in there.”

“Look, I just want to know what would look right with her decorations, okay? She’ll hate me if I buy her something ugly!”

“She hates you already,” the other tall boy says with a smirk, and the pair of them trade pointy elbows to each other’s sides for a while. They straighten up pretty quick after a look from Scott, but they still look unsettled. Allison wonders why they sit so close together if all they’re going to do is argue.

“I have some selfies from sleepovers,” Allison admits, already feeling the need to make these kids like her. “It’s mostly pink. Her room. But you can see some of her furniture in them?” She slips her phone across the rough wood and smiles faintly as the boy scrambles up it in his long, skinny fingers, flipping through all the shots from different angles.

“He’s going to spend his entire allowance from now until her birthday comes,” Malia says, in that same almost blank tone she has – not judging, just stating a fact. “I hope you don’t expect us to pay your way in to the movies when you’re broke.”

The boy looks up at her, mouth wide open but eyes squinting, like he can’t decide if he wants to be offended or indignant or both. “Look, I’ll live if I don’t see whatever remake Hollywood shits out next. Getting Lydia to notice me is way more important than missing out on a few dumb monster movies.”

“No it’s not,” Allison says, throat closing up with anxiety as soon as it slips out. Everyone turns to look at her at once, and she feels small despite the fact that Malia is shoulder to shoulder next to her, just barely shorter. It’s a different sort of small. “I-”

The boy at the other table snorts audibly. “Well, you got it from an expert now, Stiles. You happy?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Allison corrects, and she feels Malia’s knee nudge against hers in – well, something like sympathy, if the look on her face is any indication. “I liked being Lydia’s friend. But once she decided I wasn’t…”

Scott smiles across at her, sunshine in the face of her disappointment. “Once she decided you weren’t, you found us,” he says decisively, and two or three of the people around her chime in their agreement. Malia untangles her ankles from the pile under the table and offers to get Allison a soda from the machine while she’s up. The tall boys slip back into bickering, this time about video games, and the pressure slips from Allison’s shoulders gradually. Things feel…normal.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Boyd partners with her when Erica needs a day off from school – her seizures leave her tired afterward, and she’s had to change her dosage a lot this year thanks to the weird stuff hormones do to your body. He’s a great lab partner, actually, really smart and super careful, and he and Allison pull off easy As together. It’s better than she’s ever done in science. It makes her better even when she’s paired with someone else, thanks to his help with notes and interpreting the directions so that you don’t screw up right out of the gate.

The two of them and Isaac, the tall, curly-haired boy, are always catching a ride home in a big Toyota with Cora – a freshman – and her older brother. Allison doesn’t live far from Erica, it turns out, and she rides with them sometimes. Cora is very sparing with her words, more terse even than Malia, and her brother gets grouchy about dirty shoes in his car, but it feels a lot cooler than waiting for her dad to pick her up. Isaac complains about Stiles even when they’re not with him and Boyd shares amused looks with Erica and even Allison about it, like they’re in on a secret.

Stiles and Scott both catch the bus with their friend Harley, though Stiles talks a lot about next year when he’ll finally be able to drive the Jeep sitting in his garage. They’re inseparable as far as Allison can tell, close enough that she thinks at least two of them must be dating until she finds out Scott and the intense music girl, Kira, are sort of a thing. A new thing, since she’s only been here as long as Allison, but it’s obvious enough when she knows what to watch for. It’s cute and natural and Allison thinks dating might not be so bad at this school after all. She doesn’t like Isaac or Stiles that way, though, and Boyd is thoroughly off-limits – just as obviously Erica’s when she isn’t around as when she’s draped across his lap like an announcement (or a warning) to anyone else who might try something.

Allison’s getting to know them bit by bit, and Malia, too. Actually, maybe she’s getting to know Malia even faster. She’s the only one who’s around without fail at lunchtime. Scott sits inside when his asthma is acting up and Harley and Stiles follow; Isaac disappears mysteriously somewhere within the school from time to time. Boyd, she discovers one day while trying to find an earring she lost on her way out, finds someplace quiet and alone to call Erica at home when she’s missing school. The biggest surprise is that Kira is friends with Danny and that they hang out in the music room sometimes. Apparently Lydia and Jackson’s official decree of uncool doesn’t faze him much.

Malia plays volleyball, but those practices are in the morning and after school, so she’s always in her same trusty spot at lunch. Even when everyone seems to be catching a cold from each other, she never misses a day, stunningly clear-eyed and healthily when everyone else is sniffling and miserable. She teaches Allison how to buy enough lunch for the week on just her allowance and to still have money left over for their movie nights at the dilapidated theater in the mostly abandoned end of town. Malia’s dad usually drives most of them, Scott’s mom dropping off her overexcited son and his best friends, and they always have a great time even when the movies are in black and white or have terrible acting.

The first time she invites Malia to stay at her house she gets intensely nervous about it in a way she never feels around her new friends. What if she says no? What if Malia doesn’t like her parents, or her room? What if things are awkward and then Malia is stuck there for the night, wishing she didn’t have to share a bed and wait it out til morning? She doesn’t remember worrying so hard about Lydia. Maybe because Lydia had been so eager to get her alone. The way that Lydia was always complimenting her and making a big deal of her had been nice, even when it was all so shallow. Malia never compliments her hair or her clothes or her body the way Lydia and her friends had, and it makes her feel just as insecure as the attention she had. Maybe it’s just a teenaged girl thing – unhappy in the spotlight and unhappy when she goes unnoticed. Either way, it takes her several days before she works up the courage and confirms a Friday night sleepover.

Malia shows up after dinner – something Allison had requested, since her family can be a bit of an embarrassment – in sweatpants and her track t-shirt from the year before, which is getting tight in a couple of places that are hard not to stare at. She’s carrying a duffel bag, a different one from the bright blue one she keeps her volleyball gear in, and a box of popcorn. “Guess what was on sale?” she asks, waving it in Allison’s face, and marches right in, looking around at the inside of the house with an appraising expression. “Are you upstairs?”

“Um, yep,” Allison agrees. “My DVD player and stuff is all up there…in my bedroom…upstairs.” Malia tilts her head, looking at her for a long moment, and then starts up the staircase, taking them two by two.

“Your house is huge,” she calls down, and Allison follows her up with her eyes on the individual steps, counting them so that she doesn’t look up and catch herself staring at Malia ahead of her.

Allison’s homework due on Monday is still spread across her bed from where she’d tried to do as much as she could before tonight. Malia looks through the pages curiously, making faces at the math she finds. “I’m going to hate having classes with you guys next year,” she admits. “I had horrible grades before I started taking the remedial classes. There’s only like six of us, so the teacher can pay attention to all of us. If I go back to getting Ds, I’m going to be grounded all the time.”

Allison settles a hand on her shoulder tentatively, trying to think of what would make her feel better in that situation. “Everyone will be able to help when they have the same work as you, though. Erica’s always missing school and we help out. And Stiles and Kira have a bunch of tips and tricks, I bet. Their grades are just fine.” Stiles’s ADHD causes more behavior problems than academic ones and as far as Allison knows, barely anyone has any idea that Kira has dyslexia. Everyone sort of helps everyone else, and even Allison’s grades are better for it. It hasn’t been that long since second grading period’s report cards came out and they threw a Straight Bs party for Isaac, all B movies and, of course, Bee Movie (which they’d turned off after the initial wave of laughter for the first five minutes).

“You won’t help?” Malia asks, not looking up from the work that Allison had rushed through all afternoon.

She opens the popcorn box to see if it’s the kind you put on the stove or in the microwave, chewing the inside of her lip. “I probably won’t be here for ninth grade,” she points out. She’s always hated moving around, but the dread is so much deeper and heavier here than it ever has been. She’s got real friends and she’s actually finished painting her room a pale blue. Her boxes are all unpacked. Beacon Hills feels like home, the weirdest and most settling feeling she’s ever had. The thought of leaving makes her feel sick.

“Oh, right,” Malia says, scooping up the papers and shoving them into Allison’s history book. “So, are we both going downstairs to pop the popcorn?”

There’s a minimum of grilling from her mom while they get ready and Malia got the really great popcorn, the kind where there’s a whole pouch of gooey fake butter to pour into the bag after it’s popped. Allison can’t remember seeing this kind less than several dollars a box even on sale, and she feels itchy underneath her skin with the knowledge that Malia had shelled out her precious allowance on it.

Upstairs, Allison looks through the DVDs she has, the ones her mom rented earlier in the weak separated out from the ones she owns. “How about Jennifer’s Body?” she asks, fingers hovering over Video 2C’s logo on the rental box.

“Cora said it was kind of gay,” Malia offers from the bed, the covers already kicked back far enough that she can stick her socked feet beneath them. She’s always cold.

Allison squirms with discomfort. She’s never heard Malia say anything about that, even though Kira talks about Danny pretty regularly, so she’d kind of thought she was cool about it, the way the San Francisco kids had been. “I don’t…really like to say that,” she starts, afraid that she’s going to do something wrong again. One false move had been one too many with Lydia.

“Oh,” Malia says, dull surprise in her voice as she sits up and looks down at Allison on the floor. “No. I mean, literally, gay. The girls kiss each other, and Cora talked about a bunch of other stuff, too. I kind of stopped listening after a minute, she spoils everything, and there’s no point watching something if you already know what’s going to happen.”

Maybe she doesn’t agree with that entirely, especially since so many of the movies they watch at the theater are old as the hills, but it’s a relief anyway. “So…do you want to watch it?”

“Dude, yes,” the reply comes, in an almost perfect imitation of Stiles, and Allison doesn’t bother trying to hide her giggles as she puts the movie in the player and flips out the light, taking the remote back to bed with her. Malia holds the covers up for her and lets her slide underneath, offering her popcorn once they’re settled in and skipping through the previews.

Allison kinda wants to punch whoever said this movie was scary, but she’s having a good time. It’s funnier than it is anything, and they titter in somewhat shameful glee over all of the sex jokes and references. They pass the popcorn back and forth between them, sharing a bottle of water Allison filled up downstairs. Malia comments sometimes about how Jennifer reminds her of Lydia and Allison stays quiet about it, trying not to agree out loud. Lydia hasn’t actually done anything wrong. She just doesn’t want to be friends with Allison anymore, for whatever reason that is. That’s not against the law and it happens all the time, she suspects, though everyone but Kira in her new group has been friends since practically kindergarten without kicking anyone out.

They both get really quiet when the scene Cora talked about comes around. Allison’s breath is caught in her chest, her toes tingling and a weird sense of anticipation building in her. It’s zoomed in so much that she can see the way their mouths stick a little every time they move to pull apart, like their bodies don’t want to separate. She swallows hard, the straight line of her side pressed along the curve of Malia’s, and only lets out a breath when it’s over. Pretending that she’s following the plot for the next five minutes or so is difficult, but eventually the butterflies in her stomach settle down enough for her to catch more than the bare bones and laugh in all the right places.

It’s not late at all when they finish the movie, but neither of them gets out of bed to put another DVD in. The screen goes into idle mode, grey logo bouncing on a dark screen, and it’s almost pitch black in Allison’s bedroom. Malia’s breathing is even beside her, falling against Allison’s shoulder because she’s turned over to her side. It’s almost like she’s asleep, at first, until Allison turns over, too, and finds them face to face with one another.

“Hey,” she says, glad that the cover of night can hide the warmth in her cheeks. She doesn’t know why she’s so embarrassed suddenly, but her feet are curling themselves into awkward positions in the sheets, a nervous fidget.

She can just makes out Malia’s smile, the same gentle one she always gives – closed lips pressed together, the corners of her mouth stretching up toward the roundness of her soft cheeks. “Hi.” It’s quiet again for a while, both of them moving minutely in the dark, blinks and twitches, just looking at one another. “Um,” Malia stalls. It’s subtle, barely audible at all, but Allison’s eyebrows go straight up. Malia never ums and uhs and uses fillers like most people their age do. She thinks about what she’s going to say if she need to, and she’s blunt enough that she doesn’t bother softening her words with comforting little pauses. Allison’s stomach turns. As bad as it was with Lydia, at least she never had to hear the words from her mouth. Malia’s brave and open enough to just tell her she doesn’t want to do this again, if that’s what she intends to do.

“I have to pee,” Allison says quickly, starting to kick the sheets off, but Malia grabs her arm with a surprising strength.

“That’s a lie,” she says evenly, staring right into her eyes. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“No. I don’t want you to leave Beacon Hills.”

The air conditioner kicks on, the only sound in the quiet between them while Allison tries to figure out what to say to that or what her emotions are doing, firing off in opposite directions. She feels guilty ahead of time for knowing that she’ll have to go and sad because she doesn’t want to, either, and, most of all, absolutely euphoric that Malia wants her to stay. “I don’t know if I can stop it,” she admits, her throat feeling tight to the point of snapping. “I wish I could, but I don’t think I can. My dad’s job-”

“I know,” Malia says, but she doesn’t seem upset and accepting so much as pleased. “But I want you to stay.” Allison lets herself sink back into the softness of the bed a centimeter at a time, scared to move too fast and scare away the moment. Malia moves both of their hair so Allison won’t lie on it, her hand flat on the sheet in the spare few inches between them. Allison can see that her gaze is moving around, but not what she’s looking at. “You have pretty eyes,” she says finally, more softly than Allison had thought her capable of.

“It’s really dark,” Allison points out foolishly, because her heart is racing in her chest.

“I can still see,” Malia counters, and she proves it a moment later when her lips touch Allison’s, the fit of them perfect and brand new and aligned just right. It’s not wet and open and sexy like on television or downright gross like some of the kids who do this at school, but Allison feels full up with it anyway, the same whole-body tingle and a headrush she’s never felt before.

Malia’s eyes stay closed when they pull apart, and Allison can barely make out her lips moving in the dark, though there aren’t any sounds coming out. She opens them a minute later, her peaceful smile back on her face, and loops her hand around Allison’s own beneath her pillow where she props her head.

They fall asleep like that a good bit later, but still early, the television still on and the pile of unwatched movies on the floor.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

The first day of ninth grade is a lot different than the first day of eighth. Allison wears a skirt, one she’d picked out on a bargain bin dive over the summer, and the few compliments she gets matter to her – Scott’s grin when he tells her how cool the print is, and Erica’s request to accompany her shopping next time to wherever she finds such great pieces. Kira hands her a back to school playlist with a messy ink drawing for the cover, all blooming flowers and curling vines, and Allison passes back her own, not even a bit self-conscious about the pretty cursive tracklist she’d written and how plain it looks in comparison. Isaac pushes Stiles into the lockers before Jackson can and they’re laughing about it in the hallway when they all catch up to each other, one big group.

Lydia Martin is holding court at her table just like always, but she doesn’t cross Allison’s mind when she walks into the cafeteria holding Malia’s hand. It’s too hot to be outside, and she belongs here.


End file.
